


DISGRACE

by ko_writes



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Child Abuse, Dark, Explicit Sexual Content, Gender Non-Conforming Ranka, He uses male pronouns; just so you know, Homelessness, Kyouya's very messed up, M/M, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Haruhi, OOC Kyouya, OOC Tamaki, Past Child Abuse, Poverty, Prostitution, Punk Kyouya, Sexual Abuse, Starvation, Tamaki's an asshole in this, That's why Haruhi still uses male pronouns and stuff, hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:48:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6809785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ko_writes/pseuds/ko_writes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kyouya's lived on the streets for years after running away from home; he knows how the world works, how it's cruel and unforgiving.<br/> <br/>Or, at least, he thought he did...</p><p>(Tamaki/Kyouya isn’t romantic, they just have sex and the relationship is very unhealthy)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Skinny boy with a knife

He pulled his ratty hoodie tighter around his thin frame as he shivered, his breath fogging in the cool night air. His hands were shoved in the front pocket, trying to keep them warm, as he walked along, tailing to men who looked like they had more than enough cash to spare.

He was far too hungry to care at that point, three days without even a crumb because his tattered conscience had decided to rear its useless, ugly head. He'd have done anything to make it stop. If he didn't succeed with this, he could just go to his second job; but he wanted to avoid that if possible.

He quickened his pace, coming so close to the pair that the condensation of his breath hit their backs, and pulled his hood further down his face. "Stop," he commanded, his voice firm but not loud, "Gimme your wallets."

They froze, as expected, and slowly turned around. He kept his head low, threateningly, to avoid them seeing his face.

"Dad... What do we do?" The younger, a blond kid, whispered. The kid's hands shook as he gripped his father's arm, and he tried to pretend that the fear gave him a sick feeling of satisfaction.

It didn't. It never did.

"Tamaki, it's alright," The father hushed, "I'll take care of it."

"Hey, shit stains, I'm getting impatient," He huffed, trying to hurry the process along, "I said to give me the fucking wallets."

"Just calm down," The older one tried to reason.

"I think you should give me what I want," He cautioned, taking the folding knife out of his pocket and flicking out the blade, "Don't think that I won't use this."

He wasn't even bluffing anymore, he was that desperate. He didn't want to, he really didn't, but that was how things were.

The blond's eyes were wide with fear, as anyone's would be in that situation, but the older man was annoyingly calm; like he didn't take him seriously as a threat.

"D-dad, I think we should do as he says," The blond whimpered. Smart kid.

"Tamaki," The older man began, a twitch at the corner of his lips, "Calm down. I don't think he'll do anything."

"I will," He barked, but it sounded a little too strangled to be convincing, "And it's shitty to talk about people like they're not there."

"I don't think you will," The older man repeated, facing him and allowing the smirk he was holding back to emerge on his lips, "You're shaking."

He bit his lip, berating himself. He didn't know if it was low blood sugar or the fact that he may have had to stab someone, but it was weakness either way; something that wasn't acceptable to show.

"That begs the question," The older man continued, low and calm, as if someone wasn't threatening him with a knife, "Why is he so desperate? Is he an addict? Does he need food?"

He almost let the indignant look show on his face at being considered a drug addict, but his stomach growled at the mention of food. He was just so damn hungry, it hurt. He pressed his free hand to his abdomen, trying to soothe the hunger pangs.

"That's it, isn't it?" The guy smiled, but not unkindly, "You're hungry."

It was hardly like he could deny it, but he stayed silent. He just closed his eyes and tried to pretend that it wasn't happening; it was mortifying.

"You don't need this."

He jumped as large, warm hands gently eased the knife from his grip, head snapping up unintentionally. Something glinted in the older man's eyes as they widened fractionally, something he couldn't quite grasp, but the other just held a hand out to him.

"Come on," The older man bid, nodding down to his hand as if he wanted him to hold it, "I'm sure the only places open at this time of night aren't very high quality, but it's better than nothing."

"What?" He asked, a frown creasing his brow. He didn't understand this man; what did he want? He decided to just go with an explanation that made sense to him, "Look, man; all police stations are hellholes to me, I'm not picky."

It was the other's turn to frown. It was only brief, however, as he soon grasped what he meant. "I'm not reporting you," The man stated, "You're hungry and far too thin, we're getting you some food."

He was even more confused by that, but allowed the man to take his hand and lead him along the road, and towards a fast food establishment that he didn't notice the name of. The son - Blondie, or Tamaki, or some other shit name - spluttered the whole way, trying to convince his father to report him to the police.


	2. What's your name?

   The older man - who he still didn't know the name of - guided him and the blond shit stain into the building, the warm air a godsend for his cold and skinny body, and gently sat him down on a a soft, if threadbare, seat. The ass-wipe took the seat opposite, so he did his best to ignore him and focus on the world outside; the flickering street lights irritated him some-what, but it was better than engaging the drip.

   They both lapsed into silence as the older man placed an order at the till, Tamaki sending him dirty looks out of the corner of his eye. He just continued to stare out the window, watching the occasional car pass and the odd drunk trying to walk home; a depressing scene, maybe, but it was better than the tension inside. His breath fogged the glass as he rested his forehead against the cool surface.

   The older man returned pretty quickly, a cheap plastic tray in his hands; a burger, French fries, two vanilla milkshakes, two ice creams, and some sort of soft drink crowding its surface. It was more food than he'd seen in a long time, and he salivated as soon as he saw it, as soon as he smelled it.

   The tray was placed in front of him, the man taking the extra milkshake, ice cream and soft drink. His limbs twitched, wanting so desperately to launch himself at the food and devour it, but he forced himself to slow down, taking a deep breath and carefully picking up the burger with his shaking hands.

   The bun was soft, the heat from the meat emanating through the white bread, wilting lettuce and overly soft tomato sandwiched between the two. The patty itself had a sheen of oil and grease which would probably turn the stomach of a more discerning person, but all he could think about was the warmth of the food in his hands.

   His gaze flickered up to the older man, a silent question in his eyes. The other just gave him a smile and a nod for an answer, but he was far too desperate to really care.

   As soon as he sunk his teeth into the burger, his mouth filled with saliva and his stomach rumbled in anticipation. At this point, eating was more satisfying than sex, and the food warmed his throat and stomach when he swallowed.

   The next bite was quicker, less restrained, and he swallowed faster than before. It felt so good, just eating a burger most would find disgusting.

   It wasn't long before he was hunched over his food, like a feral animal, wolfing it down without any regard for taste; all he could focus on was the pleasure of warm fullness in his stomach.

   He finished the burger quickly, almost frenzied, barely registering the disgusted look Tamaki plastered over his face. He was starving, he didn't care what some snobby rich boy thought of him.

   He reached for the fries, but a hand wrapped around his wrist; gently, but it still startled him. He pressed his back into the lumpy stuffing of the seat, eyes snapping up to meet the older man's warm brown ones. 

   "It's alright..." The man soothed, "You just need to slow down; you'll make yourself sick otherwise."

   He nodded, and the grip on his arm loosened. He still ate quickly, but made more of an effort to restrain himself; however, it still felt agonisingly slow.

   Ice cream certainly wasn't his favourite, he didn't like sweet things, but it was valuable food. He dug his spoon into the soft serve, ice crystals dispersed throughout, and brought it to his lips, again and again.

   Before long, the tray was empty. He sat in his seat, full and content, and sipped his milkshake. 

   "Take your hood off," Tamaki finally snapped, "It's rude, and I can't even see your face."

   He rolled his eyes, but pushed his hood back anyway, just to shut the idiot up. His black hair was greasy and mussed, but he didn't give a shit; he could look worse. "Fine, whatever," He shrugged, fresh out of fucks to give this kid. He took a little satisfaction in how startled the blond looked, probably due to the dirt that was smeared on his face from a bit of rough housing earlier that day.

   "What's your name?" The man asked.

   He gave the man a suspicious look, not quite sure what he wanted. "Call me Ky," He answered dubiously, "Everyone else does."

   "Ky," Tamaki scoffed, but was silenced by a look from his father.

   "Are you sure it's not... Kyouya?" The man asked, and Kyouya almost pissed himself. How the hell...? Who was this guy?! And he just had to keep going, apparently, "Kyouya Ootori?"

   "Why the fuck would you even guess that," Ky grunted, his face neutral and his voice steady. 

   "Because I'm Yuzuru Suoh," The man stated, and Ky's eyes widened in recognition, "Remember? I used to come 'round to see your father, Yoshio?"

   Kyouya just looked at the dirty linoleum floor, refusing to say a word.

   "Yoshio Ootori?" Tamaki scoffed, "You think this gutter rat is an Ootori?"

   "Tamaki, be quiet," Yuzuru chastened, before turning back to Kyouya, his expression softening, "You are, aren't you?"

   Kyouya was speechless, too shocked to speak, but nodded hesitantly. 

   "You've grown," Yuzuru stated fondly, "I remember when you were a baby."

   "I haven't grown much," Ky ground out, followed by a forced chuckle; a joke to lighten the mood. He was shorter than he should be, he knew that, due to malnutrition as he was growing up. He might have been around Tamaki's height if he'd had a healthy diet, but he was only up to the boy's chest.

   "You ran away seven years ago, no one knew where you went," The man recalled, "You must be... eighteen now?"

   "Seventeen," Ky corrected, "Eighteen in November."

   "Ah, that's right," Yuzuru nodded, "Not that it matters now, but I got you the book you wanted for your birthday, all those years ago."

   "Mother Goose," Ky chuckled, "I was such a fucking baby."

   "Whimsical is the word you're looking for," The man supplied.

   Ky hummed distractedly, the trio lapsing into a stifling silence. Not necessarily awkward, but by no means pleasant. Ky could hear the clock tick on the wall, the cheers of a group of shit-faced girls outside, stumbling in their heels.

   He finally relented, asking the uncomfortable question that was posed on the tip of his tongue, "Are you going to take me back to my father?"

   "No," Yuzuru stated, "I don't think you heard, but he was arrested."

   That caught his attention. "What for?"

   "All sorts of things," The brunette sighed, "Embezzlement, assault, tax evasion... And they found out... why you ran away."

   "Shit," Ky spat. No one was ever supposed to know what happened in that god damn house. He thought that some people would have begged for someone to find out, if they'd gone through what he had with that fucker, but he wasn't like that. It was humiliating, disgusting, life ruining... and from the way Yuzuru made it sound, all over the newspapers and tabloids.

   "So, that's why I want to make an arrangement with a friend," Yuzuru continued, "So you don't have to go back on the streets."

   "Yuzuru, I'm sorry, but -"

   "No buts," The man interrupted, "He's a good person, as well as their child; you'll like them, I think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kyouya will be referred to as Ky in this fic, as it's the name he prefers. It basically goes into why later, but I'm respecting the character's choices; and Ky's shorter than Kyouya's canon height due to malnutrition as he was growing up.


End file.
